It was time to leave America. Much more temperate; the discreet and joyless love of a virtuous, reluctant, condescending wife. I’ll have it out with him. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls.
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